The Road Less Travelled
by CaptainObvious67
Summary: Natalie Turner has been running from her life of hunting since as long as she can remember, haunted from deadly past mistakes and the fear of future ones. Until Bobby makes her go on one last hunt with the famous Winchesters and suddenly running away doesn't sound so good anymore. Filled with adventure and deadly consequences. (Disclaimer:IDon'tOwnAnyOfTheseCharacters)
1. None of This Was Supposed To Happen

None of this was supposed to happen: CH. 1

CHAPTER ONE

Stars sprinkled in the sky as I raced down the abandoned street. My car humming along to the crunch of gravel beneath its tires. Suddenly, the blue 2002 truck bumps from a large rock in the road and I cry out, pathetically. I clutch my pale hand tighter to the dirty cloth pressing against my bloody shoulder, blood pouring over my fingers.

I press harder on the petal, forcing the car to move faster than it was intended for. My shoulder stings sharply and I start to feel dizzy making the dark trees blur together. *You're almost there, come on, two minutes and you're there.* the song, Thunderstruck from AC/DC, plays loudly in the background. But between the sound of my heart beating and my head pounding against my skull I could barely hear it.

As more trees blur together, I swerve off to the side for a second.

"Dammit." I mutter as I rush back onto the street trying to focus my eyes on the road. Finally, I see it and relief washes over me. For a second, I want to smile but then suddenly the car crashes into something. I'm so out of it, I can't comprehend on what exactly I hit.

I stumble, almost drunken like, out of the car slamming the door behind me. A man in a scruffy beard and an old baseball hat rushes out of the house in front of me.

He runs as he yells, "What in the hell, is going…." His voice trails off as he gets closer and he stops only feet away from me. I lean on my uninjured arm against the hood of the car. When I speak, my voice comes out tired and almost slurred.

"Hey, Bobby."

"Natalie?" I'm too tired to speak again and instead smile wearily at him, readjusting the soaked cloth on my shoulder. Bobby's eyes flicker towards it and walks forward, immediately putting his arm under me and I put half, if not most of my weight onto it.

We hobble over and inside the house, Bobby eventually dropping me onto a hard arm chair and I groan. In minutes, he comes out with hot water and some small tools. When he sits down, I move my hand out of the way exposing my bloody shoulder.

"Are you going to tell me what happened or just sit there with that stupid look on your face?" Bobby says gruffly, pulling out a wet cloth. I don't say anything and eventually the silence becomes unbearable.

I force a laugh and say, "You know me Bobby, just getting myself into trouble as always." He glares at me and I shift uncomfortably in my seat as he finishes up sewing the giant claw shaped gash on my arm, "Werewolf." I finally tell him and he angrily puts the needle down.

"So, what happened?" He asked,

"I told you, already-"

"You know what I mean." His glare made me uncomfortable and I glanced over his shoulder. Anything to not feel like a little kid being scolded by her father. He sighs and starts wrapping gauze around my injured arm.

"I don't know, Bobby, I tried so hard. I tried. I don't even know why I went after that stupid Werewolf in the first place."

"I tell you why, you idjit, it's because it's who you are. Even though you are so deathly scared of every monster or demon that you fight, you are still a hunter. A damn good one too." He breaths heavy and I look at him, "If you'll just get that through your thick skull and stop running from who you are…" He trails off, he looks more disappointed than upset and my stomach drops.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry." I shift in my chair favoring my shoulder as Bobby leans back in the seat across from me. It's quiet for a while, just us two staring at one another like idiots twiddling their thumbs.

Finally Bobby gets up and taps my knee, saying,

"You should get some sleep."

And then he left.

If I had the strength I'd smack the back of my head for being such an idiot and getting myself hurt. I can't help but feel tired. Tired of this job, of this life, of all of it. No matter what I do, no matter how many times I try to give up and live _normal_ something always seems to bring me back in.

I can only imagine what my big brother, Josh, would be saying right now. He'd sit me down and stare at me all stern and rough and finally he'd give this short speech about how being a hunter is more than just a way of life. Sometimes Bobby would remind me of him. Then Josh's serious face would wash away because he'd never be able to keep it on longer than a minute and then he'd laugh.

I miss his laugh the most.

I shake my head but it was too late. I could already see Josh's goofy grin and the way his eyebrows would furrow together when he was mad. He was more family to me than anything.

I was 14 and Josh woke me up in the middle of the night. He kneeled at the edge of my bed, his hand resting on my shoulder for comfort. He looked excited, wild even. Just like he always did when he found a hunt.

"Hi," I said groggily, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand. He smiles.

"Hey,"

"What are you-" I cut myself short when I see the green duffle bag lying next to his feet. He was going on a hunt. I remember hating this the most about him. Him leaving me with our parents for days at a time, never being able to tell them where he really was or what he was doing. Never knowing if this would be the time he never came home.

Before I can speak again he opens up the duffle bag, pulling out a small berretta. Quickly he places it in my hand.

"Still, remember how to use this?" I smile and easily release the clip out and back in. Unlocking the safety, aiming it at the wall in front of me before clicking the safety back in place.

"Good." He smiles again, "I think there's a job in Pittsburg, I'm gonna check it out. If I'm not back by next Saturday, you know what to do." He kisses my forehead and stands to leave.

"Wait." I say, pulling the sheets off of me, "let me come with you. I can help," He sighs but before he can rebut I say, "Please, Josh, I can do this. I'm not a kid anymore."

He drops the duffle bag and gently grabs me by the shoulders.

"Natalie, I need you here." I glare at him, "I promise one day, I'll take you but for now I need you here to take care of mom and dad. Okay?"

I sigh reluctantly and say, "Okay." He hugs me tight so my head is pressing firmly against his chest, he smelled like apples and cinnamon. Finally he lets go and grabs the bag.

"See you next Saturday, kiddo."

Only he didn't make it home. For weeks I didn't hear from him or see him. I should have called Josh's buddy Aaron the minute he didn't show up on Saturday. But I was just so scared and alone. Mom and Dad thought Josh was on a road trip with some friends and it's not like I could have told them the truth.

I didn't see Josh again for a month. Not until, something woke me up in the middle of the night. I walked down stairs, the gun Josh gave me, cocked and ready to go. When I reach the bottom of the steps, I walk towards the sound of glass bottles clinging together. A figure stood at the open fridge and I raise the gun, my hands shaking. The figure turns around, closing the door in the process and my heart leaps.

"Josh?" I ask,

"Hey, kiddo," I didn't know what to say so instead I run towards him but he stops me.

"Natalie…" Something was wrong. He looked sick and his eyes were bloodshot. I stepped back.

"What's the matter?" I ask, his eyes glance away for a second before resting back on me.

"Something happened…in Pittsburg." My heart pounded and I scan his face. Dread spreading all over me.

"What?" He walks toward me but instantly I take a step back, keeping the space between us.

"I need you to do something for me." He says, avoiding my question.

"No, no, what happened?"

"Natalie, please-"

"What happened," I say almost too loud and we both glance upstairs, making sure I didn't wake our parents. When I look back at him, he seems tired and defeated.

"I found a vampires nest," he says finally, "I killed most of them but it was six to one, Nat, eventually they got me."

"How did you get out? They wouldn't have-" finally it hits me and I feel like everything in me just died. "No, they…"

"They turned me." He says, finishing my sentence.

I walk towards him, my hands shaking so much I had to place the gun on the counter.

"Have you…" I trail off, unable to get out the words.

"Fed? No, but Natalie, it's not long before I will," tears start to cloud his eyes, "That's why I need you…I need you to stop me before I do."

My head started to spin.

"I can't, no way. I can't do that Josh."

He grabs my wrist, "Please Natalie, you have to. I can't do it myself." I stand there, tears pouring down my face.

"This wasn't supposed to happen!" I say, my words coming out in muffled sobs, "You were supposed to come home on Saturday and tell me stories while I made fun of you for saying things like Okeydokey and…this wasn't supposed to happen." Josh wipes the tears from my face meanwhile his own start pouring down his cheeks and I can't help but reach up and wipe them off too. He grabs a large machete from his waist and hands it to me.

"We can find another way, please Josh, don't make me do this."

"There's nothing, I've looked. Please, you're the only one who can do it. I don't want to hurt you, just please." He was begging.

I look at the silver knife in my hands and then back up at him. He always looked so strong and brave. I remember looking up at him like he was undefeatable, like nothing could touch my big bad brother. But now he just looked broken.

"I'm scared." He laughs and it should feel uncomfortable but all I feel is warmth from it.

"Me too," and the he grabbed my face with his hands and kissed the top of my head, just like he always did when he was saying goodbye. This time for good.

He kneels down in front of me and the blade shakes as I lift it up. He closed his eyes tight and I remember wanting to do the same thing but instead, I swung.

When it was all done, I couldn't stop crying. I fell to the floor, Josh's blood soaking my pants. This was all my fault. If I hadn't messed up and done what I was supposed to, call Aaron. Than he wouldn't have been alone when he raided the vampires nest. And he wouldn't have needed me to…

I thought becoming a hunter is what he would have wanted but now every time I hunt I can't help but feel haunted by the fact that I'm going to mess up and get someone killed. I've tried giving up but like tonight, it seems my past won't ever let me go.

I grab the bottle of whiskey, Bobby left on the table and take a drink. And another and another until the pain in my shoulder goes numb and my vision blurs. None of this was supposed to happen. None of it.


	2. Not Done, After All

Not done, after all: CH 2.

CHAPTER TWO

"Dammit." I curse, as my hand slips and drops the silver wrench. I roll out from under my car, squinting from the sudden burst of sunlight. Slowly, I stand up and turn towards my broken truck. A huge dent sat on the hood of the car. Depressing, yes but a huge improvement from what it was two weeks ago when I stupidly crashed into one of Bobby's broken down cars.

After Bobby fixed up my shoulder, I tried to leave, I was better on my own anyways, but between my lack of transportation and Bobby's protesting to let my shoulder heal, I was stuck here. At least, until I fix my truck. Grabbing a dirty, red rag from the old bench next to me, I rub the dark grease off of my fingers.

I look down at my hands and sigh in soft anger, the oil rubbed into dark smudges along the creases of my hand.

"Seriously," I say quickly under my breath and then turn around. Walking through a half open door across from me and into the messy green kitchen,

"Hey, Bobby, do you have anything that gets off grease?" I ask maybe a little too quiet as I try to rub off the black oil.

When I look up, I see Bobby talking to two ruggedly dressed men, one a good four inches taller than the other. I suddenly stop and side step behind the wall and peer out at the three of them.

"How's the Leviathan research going?" The shorter one says, his voice surprisingly deep. Bobby scoffed at his question.

"How do you think, Dean," He answers. The two boys across from him exchange a worrisome look before Bobby continues, "Anyway, that's not why I told ya idjits to come over."

"Then why?" The taller one asks, the deep bags under his eyes and the soft way his voice curved indicated his need for a long night's rest. Hell, a whole day's worth.

Bobby turns his back to them, walking over to the cluttered table across from him. He grabs a tan case folder, just like the ones he would give me when he thought he found a case for me to work, when I was younger and still trying to be the hunter my brother would have wanted.

"I think I found a job down in Bunker Hill, Indiana." He says as he hands the folder over to the taller one, "Three men have gone missing in the last month. Each found less than four days later…ravished and torn apart. Officials say, grizzly attack."

The tall one, flipped carefully through the pages of the folder and asked, more like a statement than a question. "But you don't think so?"

"There hasn't been a single report of any bears in Bunker Hill for the past ten years, now all of a sudden there up and roaming about, eating people?"

"Werewolf?" The shorter one, Dean, asked looking over the other guy's shoulder at the case file.

"Couldn't be. The lunar cycle isn't right." I shift my weight between my feet, trying to get a better view of the conversation.

As the taller one closes the folder, Dean shakes his head and asks,

"Bobby, you could have called and told us this. Now, why's the real reason you told us to come over?"

"Yea, Bobby?" I say, dauntingly as I step out from behind the wall. It had suddenly dawned on me why Bobby called these two goofball hunters over.

The three look quickly over to me, surprised by my sudden interruption. Before anyone could do anything else, Dean had pulled out his gun and aimed it quickly at me.

"Who the hell are you?" He asked, I don't even flinch. It's not the first time a gun has been pulled on me. The taller one than pushing Dean's hands down, lowering his gun.

"Dean, what the hell, man?"

"Sam-!" He yelled angrily at him and turns to Bobby. Who looks like he just wants to slap the back of both of their idiotic heads.

"Will you both calm down, this is Natalie, and she's a hunter who's been staying here to till she fixed her truck." Sam and Dean give sheepish looks at one another and Dean flicks off the safety of his gun. I turn my attention back to Bobby and direct back to my question,

"So? What is it Bobby?"

"Can I talk to you? Alone." He said, after a moment of silence. I walk over to the living room with Bobby. When I believe we were out of earshot, I snap.

"No." Is all I say.

"You don't even know what I was going to say." He says gruffly.

"Oh yes, I do," I respond pacing a couple feet back, "You want me to work with those two hunters out there." I say as I point towards where Sam and Dean were waiting.

"So what if I do?"

"Bobby, we have talked about this over and over again. I am _done_ with hunting."

"So, you keep saying, yet you always end up coming back with some other injury or so from some hunt you found. Why do you think that is? Cause it sure as hell ain't because you're done with hunting, I can tell you that."

"Bobby—"

"No, I am done seeing you give up only to end up almost getting yourself killed. I swear, if I didn't know you better I would think you wanted to die." A sudden pang hits my stomach and I look down, "At least this way, maybe you can realize that you can't keep running."

"And the two hunters? Why do you want me to go with them?"

"Protection." I roll my eyes, oh so un-subtle. "Don't give me that look. I have stitched you up too many times to count. Sam and Dean are the best hunters I know, you'll be safe with them."

I breathe deeply. There was no other way out. Bobby was going to make me do this, whether I agreed to it or not. I guess it was better to go along than to fight.

"Fine." Bobby raised his eyebrows but before he could respond I cross my arms across of me and walk out of the room. He quickly followed after.

Dean and Sam were sitting at the table their heads leaned in, obviously deep in conversation but when they notice Bobby and I walk in they stand up, Sam stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"So? Anyone gonna tell us what's going on?" Dean asked.

"Natalie is joining you guys on the hunt." Bobby says to them,

"What—"

"I'm not going to repeat myself. Just get your asses to Indiana before I kick them there." He takes a swig of the beer he took out of the fridge and Dean and Sam give resigned looks.

"Welcome to the team, I guess." I give a tight smile in recognition. "Uh, I'm Sam Winchester and this is my brother Dean."

"Figured." Is all I reply with,

"We should be going," Sam says between the small silence.

We walk out the door swiftly, each of us giving Bobby a curt goodbye before leaving. When were out, I turn towards the boys,

"I should get some stuff out of my truck, just give me a second, okay?" They nod as I turn away from them walking towards were my truck sat. Dean walked after me,

"So, are you going to tell me what all that was about?" He says, I look over at him. His apple green eyes glinted in the sun and I felt myself start to blush. _Stop it you idiot, five minutes ago he held a gun to your head. _ I turn my head back in front of me, arriving at the back of my truck. I lift the trunk, reveling a small arsenal of various weapons.

"Nope." I reply, Dean sighs harshly and looks at the weapons in my trunk.

"You know, for a hunter, you don't really have the right amount for your arsenal." I grab a couple guns and put them in the same duffle bag that held my clothes and fake IDs.

"Yea, well, considering of three weeks ago I gave up on hunting, I think it's pretty good." I don't give him a chance to respond to that before I slam the trunk close and walk over to Dean and Sam's Black Chevy Impala.

I shift the duffle bag on my shoulder before sliding into the back seat. Sam was already sitting nonchalantly in the passenger side. In moments, Dean had turned on the car already turning up the music loud and obnoxious like.

"Hope you like Metallica." He says, laughing at Sam's annoyed face.

This was going to be a long ride.


	3. Where to start?

Where to start? Ch. 3

CHAPTER THREE

When I was ten, my parents took my brother and me to Sedona, Arizona during summer vacation. Being ten, I was definitely not thrilled of the idea of going to the dusty, wild west that was Arizona. But when we got there, the air was crisp and cool and created a comforting blanket from the hot sun that warmed my bones. There were these gorgeous red mountains in the distance and the trees had just started turning fall colors.

My brother, Josh, being him couldn't see that past his seemingly undying hatred of the mosquitos. He could get shot in the arm and stitch himself up without a peep but it's mosquitos that had got him wining like a baby.

A smile spreads across my lips as I think about this, stepping out of the Impala and into the chill Indiana air. I walk a couple steps behind the Winchester brothers as we walk towards Bunker Hill's so-called best Diner. Sam opens the door, a bright sound of bells filling the room for a moment and all three of us go to take a seat at a nearby booth. I open my mouth to speak once we all sit down but instead a soft yawn comes out instead. The car ride from Bobby's house in South Dakota to here was long and tiresome, not to mention the constant grilling of questions I got from the boys.

I have no doubt that the only reason they have let me come this far with them is merely because Bobby told them to and I worry I'll soon have to give them a real explanation. Until then I can hope for the best which lately does nothing to help what-so-ever.

"What can I get you, three?" A woman with cherry red lips and in a baby blue, dress uniform says as she pulls out a pad and pencil.

Sam's laptop was already out and loaded up in front of him and without looking up from the screen he says softly,

"Just a ceaser salad for me."

Dean looks the waitress up and down and gives a flirtatious smile that would make any unsuspecting girl's knees go weak.

"What's your special, sweetheart?" He asks making the waitress smile and she pushes her pencil behind her ear.

"We've got the best bacon, cheese burgers in all of the state." She says proudly,

"Then I guess I should have that, then."

I roll my eyes at his relentless flirting and turn my head to the woman,

"That sounds great, I'll have that too." She smiles again and turns to leave, jotting down our orders as she walks.

"At least, you got decent taste in food." Dean says, almost under his breath, and I smile.

"Hey, so get this," Sam's says as he turns the laptop so the monitor was facing Dean and me. "The first vic. was a man named Shawn McDonald, a relator whose wife said he was going to a bar one night and turned up the next day half eaten."

"Okay, so, Bobby already told us all this." I say,

"Yea, but the first two victims were found after days of being missing and there was almost nothing left but a few bloody pieces of flesh and bone but then this guy is barely finished."

"So, what are you thinking? Some monster thought to get some midnight snack but was interrupted halfway through?" Dean said, his voice thick with sarcasm.

The waitress then comes up to us, arms full of plates and places them each in front of us, "Tell me if you need anything else." She says and I tell her thanks before she leaves, "Sure thing, kiddo." My jaw tightens at her condensing response, we were practically the same age and she was calling me, kiddo? Please. Dean gives a soft chuckle and I glare at him above my water glass.

"What I'm trying to say," Sam continues with the same intensity as before, "is that something or someone interrupted whatever was eating McDonald, maybe they got a glimpse at what it was."

Dean nods into his burger and responds through mouthfuls, "Sounds like a plan, me and you will check it out after."

"And what exactly will I be doing?" I interrogate,

"I don't know, watch some TV, do research."

"I did not come with you two, to be waiting around like a sitting duck twiddling my thumbs." That made Dean put down his sandwich.

"Why did you come? Cause, we sure as hell don't need help. We have been just fine without anyone else."

"I'm only here because Bobby asked me to."

"Yea, and why would he do that? Because if he thinks Sam and I are going to be babysitting—"

"You are not my babysitters." I say sternly cutting him off, "I have my reasons. Now, can we get off the subject of why I'm here and focus on what we need to do? Of course, if you need to know my personal life, maybe we should swap stories? You go, first."

That shut him up.

In the end, Sam thought the best solution was for him and me to go to the police station while Dean interrogated McDonald's now widow, Sherry. I'm leaning against the black Chevy Impala so my arms rested lazily on the hood, dressed in my best grey pantsuit. I could feel the weight of my gun hidden expertly behind the dark blazer that I'm wearing.

Looking over to my right, I can see Sam talking intensely on his phone. I can't hear what he's saying but I can feel in my gut he's talking to Bobby. Suddenly, he shoves his phone into the inside pocket of his suit and I turn away as he starts over to where I'm standing.

"Who was that?" I ask, curiosity getting the best of me as I walk with him into the town police station.

"No one," He says and opens the Plexiglas door, I sigh in surrender. This was getting old, quick.

"What have I done to get the cold shoulder from you and your brother?"

Sam stops in his tracks, grabbing my arm so I stop with him. He lowers his voice so everyone walking around us can't hear.

"Nothing. And that's the problem. We don't know you, Natalie and you won't answer any of our questions with a straight answer. It kind of makes you hard to trust." I open my mouth to respond but a man walks up to us, his dark blue uniform contrasting against his pale and pasty skin. Sam and I turn around in mild surprise already reaching for our FBI badges in our breast coat pockets.

"I'm lieutenant, Bradberry, can I—" The man says, cutting himself off once we flash him our fake ID's.

"I'm agent Smith and this is agent Zeppelin," I tell him and he straightens his posture slightly, "We're here about the recent murders in the area."

"You mean the bear attacks?"

"We're, uh, not so sure that they were." Sam responds and we follow the lieutenant out of the waiting room.

He scoffs, "trust me, fellas, they were. Found the second attack myself. No one, could do that."

Sam and I trade an uneasy glance and stop Bradberry.

"You found the body?" Sam questions and the guy runs a sweaty hand through his damp hair.

"Yeah, at least what was left of him, anyway. Pretty gruesome, too. Could barely keep my lunch down when I saw him." He looks up, his face a pale green, "I was patrolling my usual routes when I saw something. I thought that it was just some run over deer but it wasn't till I got closer did I see the sneakers. Pretty much the only thing that made me realize it was actually a person…"

I clear my throat and ask, "Would you say there was anything unusual about the, uh, remains?"

"Hell if I know, after I found him, I called it in and stayed a good twenty feet away just to make sure I didn't puke on myself. But if you want to see well, what's left of him, we still got him in the morgue."

"Show us the way."

"See what I tell ya, there's no way a person did that."

Sam and I stood over the bloody mess of bones and flesh in the cold morgue underneath the police station. He was right, no human could have done this but in my line of work, I knew that didn't mean much.

"Lieutenant," I call over at Bradberry who had his back against the wall across the room. "We're gonna need all of those case files for the attacks."

"You guys are still bent on your whole murder theory?" He asks quizzedly.

"Call it an educated guess." Sam says as he takes a pen from the tray next to him and uses it to lift a piece of gooey skin. When he looks up he gives a tight smile at the cop and Bradberry quickly leaves. Probably to go throw up.

When I can't hear his hurried footsteps down the hall I turn back towards Sam.

"So, what do you think?" He goes to speak but his eyes seem to catch something causing him to close his mouth and grab a pair of latex gloves. He searches threw the mess of slimy skin.

"What are you doing?" He responds by pulling out something black and sticky, a weird goo dripping off it. "What in the hell is that?" Sam examines it, a face of disgust as he wipes of the slimy skin. I raise a hand over my nose, the smell almost overpowering.

"It's a feather." He responds.

Hey friends! I hope you all have great Thanksgivings!


	4. Rain

Rain Ch. 4

CHAPTER FOUR

"You've got to be kidding me!" I exclaim, coated in a thick layer of annoyance. The freak storm that started minutes ago, pounded hard outside and I could hear its pit-a-patters on the Motel's roof. I lean on the front desk, so my arms rest on the smooth wood.

"Sorry, darlin but there's no rooms left, a couple of fellas came right before you and took the last one." The sleazy, I assume, desk-clerk says, a southern accent hinted in his voice.

I knew exactly who he was talking about. Sam and Dean. They had gotten out of the Impala and into the motel quicker than me, easily avoiding the sudden rain that had started pouring once I opened the car's door. Becoming soaked in the cold rain, I had run towards the entrance, watching as the boy's laugh at my misfortune before grabbing a pair of room keys.

"You look good," Dean had joked, a smirk playing on his lips and agreed to meet up in the morning.

Now here I stood, water dripping from my soaked clothes and onto the stained carpet of the lobby. Wandering how in the hell did a place like this become booked.

"Fine," I say in resign, "Where's the nearest motel from here?"

"Ten miles, east." _Now you're just pulling my chain,_ I think.

"Are you serious?" The desk-clerk nods his head, clearly starting to lose interest as he pulls out a magazine. I pick up the duffle bag at my feet.

"Thanks." I say sarcastically walking out of the lobby and back into the rain.

The Impala stares at me, parked calmly against the rough and angry down pour. I look at it feeling like it was taunting me with its warm seats and I glare back at it.

"Shut up," I say finally towards the car. Left with no other options, I haul my bag with me towards one of the motel rooms and knock. In moments, the door swings open, Sam leaning casually against it.

"Natalie? What's up?" He asks, opening the door wider motioning for me to come in, which I graciously accept.

"I was wondering if I could," I begin as Dean walks out of the bathroom in an old band t-shirt and boxers, drying his hair with the towel in his hand. And I shift my attention back at Sam, "Uh, I was wondering if I could stay here with you guys. The place is booked and it's raining and I didn't even want to ask but—"

"Hey, it's cool." Sam says cutting off my excessive rambling and I breathe.

"Okay, thanks." I almost look over at Dean, I'm sure he definitely wasn't cool with me staying but instead I just set my duffle bag next one of the beds. I tuck my cold fingers into my damp pockets trying to ignore the awkward silence that was soon enveloping the room.

"Uh, I'm gonna go take a shower." I say suddenly and walk quickly towards the bathroom before anyone could reply.

..

..

..

When the water splashes over me, I feel a pleasant warm shiver spread down my spine. Erasing the cold numbness. I close my eyes, savoring the feeling, washing the white soap along my arms and shoulders. After ten minutes, I reluctantly step out of the shower. My stomach sinking as the chill air hits me and I wrap a white towel around myself.

I look at the smudged window, my blue eyes looking solemnly back at me contrasting against my pale skin and dark brown hair. I see how my curls have already started to dry and bunch up in tight ringlets. Suddenly, the door clicks open and I stumble back, surprised.

"So, I thought,-" Dean says as he walks in and I almost slip on the wet floor, using the edge of the sink to steady myself.

"What in the hell, Dean?" I yell at him and he turns his head,

"I'm-I'm sorry, uh, I thought you might need these and uh…" He pushes the clothes he was holding in front of him and I grab them quickly, heat rushing involuntarily to my face. "Okay, good." He scratches the back of his head and I tighten the towel around me, as he's standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Bye," he says in quick and closes the door hurriedly, behind him. I glance at the clothes in my hands,

"Bye," I whisper back to him, unable to rub off the annoying heat coming from my cheeks.

John Miller walks out of the stuffy museum full of prestigious wannabes and unnatural blonde, housewives. Which coincidentally were his best friends but the tight suit his wife had stuffed him in, tug reluctantly at his shoulders making it difficult to breathe. Making the night, nearly unbearable. So, when he was finally left alone, he jumped at the chance to get some fresh air. He now stood under a fancy awning in front of the museum that probably cost more than his tickets to this gallery. Watching the hard, unexpected rain pelt down in sheets. He breathes deeply before swiftly pulling out a cigarette and a slick blue lighter. A habit he told his wife he'd quit.

"Mind if, I join you?" Said a smooth, feminine voice from behind him causing him to turn around, in mild surprise. A woman in short black dress, with legs most men would kill for stood in front of him.

"Help yourself." John said, extending the pack he held in his hand, out to her. But, that only made her smile as she passed the cigarettes, walking so close to him that if she flinched, their noses would be touching.

"I'm not really one for smoking." She told him, his mind couldn't think about nothing but the way her voice sounded like angels singing. It started to make his head spin.

"Actually," She continued, her voice in a whisper, "I'm kind of hungry."

He smiled "You know, there's a restaurant a couple of blocks from here. We could go." He barely registered what he was saying, all he knew was that he wanted, needed, to hear that angelic voice of hers. And he'd do anything to hear it again.

"I was thinking, of eating in." He began to smile again but he was stopped by black claws pulling at him from all edges. He wanted to scream but he couldn't as she whispered to him in his bloody ear, to not. Quiet tears, fell down his cheeks as rain poured down beside the museum filled with giggling, clueless guests. With walls, now stained with John Miller's blood.


End file.
